


crystal silence creeping down

by nex_et_nox



Category: Batman (Comics), Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, POV Multiple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-05-31
Packaged: 2018-10-02 20:33:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10226744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nex_et_nox/pseuds/nex_et_nox
Summary: The Reach take any human that won't be missed, and some few that will be. Anything for their experiments.It's just Jason's bad luck that -- in the middle of his training as Red Hood -- they take him, too.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for very brief mention of suicidal ideation. No actual attempt is made, but the thought is there.

Jason rolled over. Lying on his side was slightly more comfortable than trying to fall asleep on his back, but it still wasn't happening.

He sat up, rubbing a hand roughly over his face. Talia had sent him the details of his new teacher earlier that day; he'd gotten on a train from Berlin to Warsaw as soon as he had all his supplies and could buy a ticket. Warsaw would connect him to another train to Białystok. Unfortunately, by the time his train pulled into the station, it was late enough that he couldn't get a connecting train to his final destination.

There was no point driving the three hours to Białystok when he could just catch the earliest train. Maybe get some sleep in the bargain.

Except sleep apparently wasn't in his schedule.

 _Should have taken a damn plane_ , Jason thought.

He grabbed his hoodie from where he'd been using it as a makeshift pillow and pulled it over his head, then picked up his backpack and walked outside. If he wasn't going to sleep, he might as well enjoy the fresh air after being cooped up in a train most of the day.

Jason pulled out a cigarette and lit it. It was a bad habit, something he'd mostly kicked back when he was Robin, but sometimes he still itched for a smoke. It wasn't like he was overly concerned about lung cancer, either; the evidence had already shown that he was far more likely to die young and bloody than he was to live long enough to have to deal with the consequences of a few smokes here and there.

Jason stared up at the sky, stars mostly blotted out by the lights of the city. He would check in with Talia a few days after he got to Białystok. He didn't doubt that she would know when he arrived, but this way he could at least pretend to himself that he had some control. Plus, he could use that time to scope out the situation before meeting his teacher. Win-win.

He exhaled, let his head lean against the station's wall and his eyes flutter closed, the most relaxed he could make himself. It was a nice night.

Even if his eyes had been open, he wouldn't have stood a chance against the alien strength that dragged him away.

* * *

("This one is interesting," the Scientist told the Reach Ambassador. "It is unlike the others. I do not think it is an inactive metagene, not quite, but neither is it human or Atlantean magic."

The Ambassador stared through the pod’s containment field at the unconscious teenager. No physical signs of any powers, unless the streak of white in his hair counted somehow, and the Scientist would have mentioned an active metagene. And yet...

"Interesting," the Ambassador said. "Carry on."

The Reach never met with the Light face-to-face. They had never had the chance to feel the energies surrounding Ra's al Ghul.

Both Ra's and Jason could have told the Reach the energy they felt was from the Lazarus Pit.)

* * *

Jason didn't know how long he had been here. All he knew was that he couldn't escape. Nothing he did had any effect on the prison he was confined in, and the aliens holding him were only doing the bare minimum to keep him – and the other prisoners – alive in between their experiments. Every day their chances of escape slipped further away.

One of the aliens stepped into the room. They headed toward Jason's pod. He squeezed his eyes shut.

 _Let it end_ , he prayed. _Let it end, let it end._

_Just let me die!_

At least with the Joker, it had finally stopped.

Jason had never thought he would long for the peace of death again.

* * *

Jason looked dully out into the room, distantly wondering if he could muster the will and energy to look for some source of escape he hadn’t tried yet (even if it was a more final escape than he would have considered when he first arrived here), which was the only reason he saw it.

A thread of lightning snaking through the room, brushing past each pod. Vague impressions of yellow and red, left in the wake of—

A _Flash._

Jason stumbled out of his pod, catching himself with one hand. Around him, what other prisoners were left climbed out of their pods as well. There were far fewer than when he had been brought here. He knew what that meant.

“We need to go, _now_ ,” Jason said, making himself stand straight. A fine tremor ran through his whole body, leftover remnants of electricity and lack of food, but he hid that and the dizziness because there were more important things to deal with at the moment.

It was good to know that he could still use the voice and authority of Robin to get civilians moving. They rallied quickly, grabbing onto each other for support as needed, and Jason headed for the door.

He led his fellow prisoners quickly and quietly out. Other superheroes were here; they had to run into them eventually. They just had to not run into the aliens first.

A pair of sentries rounded the corner.

 _Of course,_ Jason thought. He ran, ducking at the last minute and kicking out as he slid. One of the sentries collapsed, dropping his staff weapon as he did, and Jason grabbed it as he rolled away from the other sentry. A staff wasn’t his favorite weapon, but Jason could make do.

The other sentry opened fire.

Jason could _definitely_ make do if the staff was also an alien gun.

“Come on,” Jason said when both the sentries were out, jerking his head toward the next corridor.

Two more corridors, hopefully empty because members of the Team had passed through recently, and a flash of red hair leading other humans.

_Babs!_

“Go,” Jason said, ushering the rest of his group forward until they joined up with Babara’s. Yellow and black flickered over Barbara’s shoulder. Bumblebee. And behind the two of them –

A boy in dark shades in place of a domino mask, utility belt draped over his shoulder.

The Replacement.

Jason pulled the hood of his jacket over his head and joined up at the back of the group, as far away from Robin as he could possibly get. As far away as he could get from _any_ of the superheroes who might recognize him, but he stand to even look at the Replacement.

They made it to the docking bay; Babs and the Replacement swung around to the back, holding off the sentries that had convened around them. Jason picked off a few, then left the rest to the Bats. He ducked his head as he ran past them.

“All right, people, let’s move!” Wonder Girl shouted from Miss Martian’s bio-ship.

Then, predictably, everything went to hell.

The black monster – Black Beetle, Wonder Girl called him – Jason _recognized_ him. He had come by the labs. Not often, and by and large only in the company of a specific alien, but he had been there.

Laughing.

Jason fired at him without even thinking about it.

“Don’t!” Wonder Girl shouted, shoving him out of the way of Black Beetle’s retaliatory attack. Jason rolled with the movement, only training keeping him from dropping the staff. “Leave it to us!”

Like hell. He had just as much training, and they weren’t doing any better than him. At least he had a weapon that was made by the same species; it might stand a better chance of penetrating Black Beetle’s armor.

But he wanted to at least try to get out of this with his identity intact, and he wasn’t wearing any armor, and black was encroaching on the edges of his vision every time he moved too quickly. So he could stand to be a sniper.

Black Beetle roared as Jason hit him in the eye. He blindly swung out, sonic blast picking Jason up and slamming him against the wall. This time, everything went dark.

* * *

Water splashing his face woke up him. Jason coughed, icy salt water making a good effort to drown him, and for half a second he thought that when he opened his eyes, the water around him would be a poisonous green.

Someone draped his arm over their shoulder, and then they were in the bio-ship. The speedster who had grabbed him turned around and went straight back into the fray, heading for another unconscious ally.

Seawater was still flooding the hold of the bio-ship. Beast Boy swung in, the Replacement tucked under one arm. Jason backed away, fading into the crowd of the other prisoners.

The hatch sealed. The bio-ship took off.

They were free.

* * *

“Hey,” a blonde said, settling next to him where he was slumped in a corner of the bio-ship, away from the rest of the prisoners. She had the thin look of most of the prisoners that had been with Barbara and the Replacemnt; not as bad as the ones who had been held here for days or weeks already, but not healthy. Prisoners of a different sort, Jason supposed. Ones who were gathered to be taken here. “You were pretty slick with that staff gun thing.”

“Guns are basically guns,” Jason said, shrugging it off. “But thanks.”

The girl started. “…You sound like home,” she said.

Jason considered her. He hadn’t really registered it, but she sounded like Gotham. More than that, she sounded like _him_.

“You’re a Crime Alley kid, too,” Jason said. He grinned. “I haven’t been back in a while. Is it still as shitty as I remember it?”

“Probably worse,” the girl said.

Jason laughed. Yeah, that sounded about right. Not even Batman could ever really make a dent in that hellhole.

“Steph,” the girl said, holding out her hand.

“Jason,” Jason said, and took it.

* * *

Nightwing and Wonder Girl made their way into the hold of the bio-ship after twenty minutes or so, an unfamiliar redhead trailing along behind them. They split up and started to talking to all the abductees, who were clumped together in small groups around the hold.

 _Names, locations, reassurances,_ Jason counted off. He knew it from personal experience. It was also easy to read in their body language; Nightwing was purposefully being very open and gentle, while Wonder Girl was a little inexperienced but enthusiastic enough to make up for it. The redhead at Wonder Girl’s side was just – watching. Fidgeting in the way that was characteristic in the way of speedsters, and only occasionally saying anything at all.

The speedster had been the one to drag Jason into the ship. He couldn’t help but feel that the speedster kept looking over at him.

Jason tugged at his hood, pulling it farther over his head. Steph, still sitting next to him, eyed him but didn’t say anything.

It was Nightwing that came to talk to them. Of course it was.

Jason’s hands curled and clenched in his sleeves, so they wouldn’t betray him by shaking. He ducked his head, peering through his bangs at Nightwing’s approach. The first Robin crouched in front of them.

“Hi,” Nightwing said, in his ‘frightened civilians’ voice. It echoed his body language, utterly calm and helpful. Jason _hated_ it. He hated the way that he remembered practicing his own version of that voice, hated remembering working alongside Nightwing, hated everything that he had lost.

“You’re Nightwing,” Steph said, faintly awed.

“Yep,” Nightwing said cheerily, and no one who didn’t know him would be able to pick out how strained his voice was under that faked emotion. “And you are?”

“Stephanie,” Steph said. “Brown. I’m from Gotham.”

“Awesome,” Nightwing said, some real warmth seeping into his voice. For all Jason had heard that Nightwing had recently been operating more in Blüdhaven than Gotham – when he wasn’t working with the Team – Gotham was still the place where all the Robins got their start.

Nightwing’s gaze shifted. “And your friend?”

“I don’t know,” Jason said, dagger-sharp. He looked up and met Nightwing’s eyes behind the domino mask. “Why don’t you tell me, _Nightwing_?”

Nightwing went a very gratifying shade of white.

“Jason,” Nightwing said, like a prayer. “ _Jason_.” He reached out, stretching to touch Jason—

Jason slapped his hand away, up and on his feet and backing away before his mind could catch up to what his body was doing. He kept his back to the bio-ship’s walls.

Nightwing stood slowly, hands held at his shoulders. It wasn’t reassuring; Jason knew how fast Nightwing could slip from one stance to another, knew the kinds of insane tricks no one but an acrobat could manage to fit into their fighting skills, and knew that right here and now he didn’t stand a chance.

The other abductees and superheroes were watching them. Wonder Girl’s eyes were narrow. The speedster was biting his lip and staring straight at Jason.

Jason’s skin crawled.

“Jason,” Nightwing said a third time. He didn’t take his eyes off Jason’s face. His voice was probably meant to be soothing, but all it did was make Jason start to shake.

“Piss off,” Jason said. His voice broke halfway through.

He’d thought he could do this, but he couldn’t. He’d thought he could pretend for long enough for them to get to land – because apparently they were being held in the _middle of the ocean_ , a fact which the seawater and travel time had made very clear – and then he could slip away from them all, but he _couldn’t._

They were in the air, flying in this tiny ship, and there was no escape.

He’d thought he was going to die there, just like he had with the Joker. If it had taken any longer for the Team to get there he might have. Now he was free, but he was still trapped.

Everything was burning down around him, and _he couldn’t get away._

Nightwing edged one careful step closer, and Jason broke. He lashed out at Nightwing, and then the speedster – _he **is** a speedster, but not West, not Kid Flash_ – slammed him against the ship wall and Jason thought he might be screaming and there was a quick pain in his arm and everything faded away.

* * *

(An interlude:

“ _What did you do_?” Nightwing yelled at Impulse. Blood was trailing down from his broken nose, but he still staggered forward to catch the slumped form of his brother.

“I helped,” Bart said.

“Did you,” Nightwing said, vicious and flat, cradling Jason’s head in his lap.

Bart thought about Jason’s regrets. The stories he’d told Bart in the dead of night, the memories of what his family had been and how long it had taken them to reconcile. The way that Jason had made himself hard and dangerous so he could fight his one-time family.

He had told Bart the kinds of things he had done.

 _You’re going to save us all,_ Jason said, shortly before Bart left. He smiled. _Unless you screw it up. Try not to. And –_ Jason hesitated. _Try to stay away from me, kid. I won’t know you. I might hurt you. There was a time I didn’t care who I hurt, as long as I got what I wanted._

 _Did you?_ Bart asked.

_No._

Bart didn’t know what ripples he had spread that landed Jason in the hands of the Reach. He didn’t like the implications of it; he didn’t like that it had happened, and he didn’t like that there were all sorts of things he could have set in motion by being in this time. Even so, a tiny part of him was almost glad this happened. The Reach Apocalypse was the most important thing, his whole mission, but for the man who had been a presence in his life and told him so much of the information he had needed to know about Earth’s superheroes as they had been—

Yeah. He couldn’t regret that it turned out this way. Even if this Jason ended up hating him for it.

“Yes,” Bart said. He swallowed any doubt. “It’s a sedative. He should wake up fine in a few hours.”

After they had landed.

Jason told him about his higher resistance to drugs after his resurrection, in case Impulse ever ended up against Red Hood. Bart took Jason’s warnings seriously and Jason knew it, but he was trained by the Bat. Always plan for every scenario.

Bart prayed that he had calculated the dose correctly. He’d had to do some very quick math before he moved. Future Jason knew his own tolerance, though, and Bart had compensated for the weight lost under the Reach’s torture. It should be accurate. It should be fine.

Bart would never forgive himself if he hurt the man who would one day grow up to have helped him so much.

Nightwing gathered Jason into his arms and stalked past Bart, into the cockpit with the rest of the Team. Bart retreated to his position by Wonder Girl and tried not to think about the future.)

* * *

Jason woke up in a white room, one hand cuffed to the bed he was lying on.

He was almost offended.

It was a matter of moments to slip the cuff, but the door was locked from the outside. Jason swept the room, then sat back down on the bed, staring disdainfully at the camera perched in a corner of the ceiling. He didn’t touched the water or the covered tray sitting on the table next to the bed.

He wasn’t exactly sure how long it had been – somewhere between a half hour to an hour was his best guess – before he heard a knock on the door. Black Canary stepped in, closing the door behind her.

“Dick couldn’t be bothered to come himself?” Jason spat. _Or Bruce?_ he thought, but he shoved away the hurt.

Black Canary sat in the only chair in the room and pulled it towards the bed. Not enough to crowd Jason, just enough to mimic the therapy sessions all members of the Team ended up having with her eventually.

Jason really wasn’t looking forward to this.

“I thought it might be better for you to talk to me first,” Black Canary said neutrally. “Given your reaction to Nightwing earlier.”

Jason scowled.

“Jason…” Black Canary said. “I hope you understand this is a delicate situation. If it’s anything like Red Arrow and Arsenal—”

Jason laughed. He didn’t have a damn clue who Arsenal was, but he could hazard a guess that it was the real Roy Harper. Looked like they managed to find him after all. And it must have been fairly recently, because surely he would have heard something about it.

(It must have happened while he was—)

“Can you tell us what happened?” Black Canary asked. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on her knees. Open, listening, supportive. Relaxed body language, to try to get Jason to relax in turn. “How did you end up in the Reach’s hands?”

 _When we all thought you were dead,_ remained unspoken. It hung heavy in the air.

Jason thought about the whole mess of it, the bomb and waking up in his grave and drowning in the endless green of the Lazarus Pit. He thought about the time – weeks, surely – that he had been out of contact with Talia; he wondered if she bothered searching for him. He thought about the Replacement, standing and fighting alongside Batgirl like it was his right.

“Figure it out for yourselves,” Jason said.

Everything was there, if they bothered to look. Talia found him in Gotham, and Jason knew she wasn’t lying to him. He wasn’t a clone. There was simply no time for the Light to have taken him, no reason to implant false memories of his death and the grave in his mind, no need for Talia to shove a clone into the Lazarus Pit when she could have simply grown one that wasn’t hurt like he was.

He was real, and not a single damn member of the superhero community had realized what happened to him.

Jason lay down with his back to Black Canary and waited until he heard her leave before he buried his head under the pillow to hide any betraying tears.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings at the bottom. (They're a tiny bit spoilery.)
> 
> Also: holy chapter format change, Batman!

“Impulse,” Black Canary said. “I need to speak with you.”

Bart looked up from where he was pushing food around his plate in increasingly complex patterns. He’d eaten the bare minimum to replace his energy stores, but then he hadn’t been able to force himself to eat any more. He was too worried.

It had been too close. He’d come clean to Jaime about his reasons for time traveling, but—

It had been far too close.

_You’re going to save us all_ , Jason had told him, and already he’d nearly failed. Not only that, but he’d dragged the past version of Jason down with him.

Maybe Jason only had that much faith in him because he was their only hope. Bart, though. Bart feared the Reach Apocalypse only a little more than he feared letting Jason down. One, at least, he had already lived with.

Bart stood. Black Canary’s face was deathly serious.

She led him to a room a hall away from the cafeteria all the Reach abductees had been ushered into when the bio-ship landed two hours ago. Nightwing was already in the room, leaning against the wall and staring at something on his wrist comp. It looked like it might be a video, but Nightwing shut it off before Bart could get a good look.

Suddenly, Bart knew what this was about.

“Is Jason okay?” he asked.

“That’s what we wanted to discuss,” Black Canary said, settling herself behind the desk while gesturing for Bart to take a seat on the other side, and she didn’t say that he was okay, she hadn’t said anything of the sort, Jason had told Bart to sedate his past self if he needed to but _what had Bart done to him_ —

“He’s fine,” Black Canary said. All the breath rushed out of Bart. His shoulders slumped with relief. Canary’s eyes narrowed. “Obviously from your reaction, you know how dangerous your actions were. You didn’t know his tolerance, you didn’t have any trained medical professionals on board to make sure nothing went wrong, so why would you _ever_ think it was acceptable for you to act as you did?”

“He told me to,” Bart said simply.

“Excuse me?” Nightwing said. His arms were crossed over his chest and even if Bart couldn’t see his eyes, the glare was tangible.

Bart looked back at Canary. “He told me to,” Bart repeated. “My Jason. The future one. He knew what I was planning, and he told me that if I ever ran into Re—if I ever ran into his past self, I should run. Sedate him if needed, but get away. Because he would go through me if he had to.”

“You knew he was alive,” Nightwing said, stunned. His hands fell to his sides. “You _knew_ he was alive and you didn’t _tell us_?”

“You have no idea the kinds of things I don’t tell you,” Bart said, and it was true. The sanctity of the timeline and his ability to predict events barely factored into it; there were some things he simply didn’t want to discuss, and some things that weren’t his _right_ to.

“He’s my _little brother!_ ” Nightwing shouted, taking one threatening step forward—

Black Canary swept an arm in front of him, halting him in his tracks. Her eyes hadn’t left Bart.

“I have no doubt of that,” Black Canary said to Bart, drawing her arm back. “So, Bart. Why did you _really_ travel back in time?”

Bart deliberately didn’t freeze. “Told you,” he said flippantly. “Field trip. Wanted to see my grandpa in his prime.”

Black Canary smiled. “Happy Harbor to Central City and back again, on a ‘field trip’? You wouldn’t have spent much time here even if you tried to drag it out. You would probably know where Jason was or wasn’t; it would be easy to avoid him if he told you where he was. Why did he specifically warn you what to do when you ran into him?”

“If,” Bart said, mouth dry. “ _If_ I ever ran into him.”

“Ever?” Canary asked mildly. She leaned forward.

“It was just—” Bart started. “He – wanted me ready for a worst case scenario. You know. Bats always plan for the worst.” A phrase that Jason had repeated over and over when they kept talking contingency plans, staying up late discussing a time that was decades gone for Jason.

_You ever hear of Murphy’s Law, kid?_ Bart had shaken his head. Jason frowned, but said, _Anything that can go wrong, will. Always plan for the worst. Bats do, and you need to, too. You only have one shot at this._

“A worst case scenario?” A deliberate pause. “For example…something like being unable to return to your time?”

_She knows!_

It wasn’t world ending that she had figured that out – Bart knew his acting skills weren’t great; he’d known what he was getting into from the very beginning, and he hadn’t quite been able to feign disappointment at being torn away from the future that he’d known. The problem was what _else_ she might draw from it, and that –

He didn’t want them judging Jaime for something that wasn’t his fault. Jaime was a _good person_ , better than most Bart had known, better even than some he had only gotten to know in this time. The disconnect between Blue Beetle on mode and this one was staggering. Sometimes, Bart could barely believe that his memories of that Beetle were true when he faced the light of Jaime.

“Guess we didn’t plan for that one,” Bart said, trying to play it off as a joke, and knew immediately that it hadn’t worked.

“Bart,” Canary said. “Please. Be honest with us. _Why_?”

Bart shook his head. “I can’t,” he said.

“Can’t or won’t?”

“Is there a difference?” Bart asked. He couldn’t, because there were so many details he knew that could change _everything_ , and that was what he wanted when it came to the Reach Apocalypse, but there were so many other ways he could screw things up. He couldn’t, because he was terrified every step of the way but he couldn’t hand this off to someone else when it was _his_ responsibility; they might try to keep him out of it, and he couldn’t to take that.

He wouldn’t, because of what he’d already thought before: Jaime didn’t deserve it. Neutron didn’t deserve it. _Jason_ didn’t deserve it.

“For what it’s worth,” Bart said, and he directed his words toward Nightwing, “I’m sorry.”

Then he was phasing through the door and _gone_ , back to Jaime’s side until they came to force him away.

* * *

Nightwing was halfway to the door before Dinah stopped him.

“Let him go,” she said.

“Canary—” Nightwing started hotly.

“No,” Dinah said, firm. “I’ll talk to him again later. We’ve pushed him as far as we could today.”

Perhaps too far.

Dinah had too many new suspicions about what kind of life Bart came from, and she didn’t like any of them. She had been suspicious since the first day that she had met Impulse, but she had put it aside. He seemed to be fitting in well with the team and it was obvious that he adored Iris – and Barry, to a somewhat lesser and more fragile extent. That emotion could be faked, but Dinah was pretty sure it _wasn’t_.

In some ways, Bart was quite straightforward. It was why she had been able to read so much into what he had said. And what he didn’t say.

“You’re not going to be with me the next time I talk to him,” Dinah said to Nightwing, pushing away her thoughts. Nightwing frowned, and— “Every member of this team has a right to privacy,” she added. “And to some extent, everyone has a right to their secrets. The superhero community can’t afford to let everyone know everything. You of all people should know that.”

_Because of Batman,_ was the uncompleted thought, but Nightwing _flinched._

_What was that?_

Dinah didn’t show an outward reaction, but she filed it away for later. Nightwing was up to something, and she didn’t know if it was something that she needed to involve herself in or not. As it stood, it was obviously something of a sore point.

“…you’re right,” Nightwing said, regaining some of his equilibrium. “I just – he knew Jason was alive.” Nightwing swayed. “Jason’s alive.”

“Sit,” Dinah said. Nightwing did, settling into the same chair that Bart had just vacated. “How are you doing, Dick?”

Nightwing laughed. “ _Great_ ,” he said, running light fingers along the edge of his mask and stopping before he got to his nose. “I’m going to have a nice pair of black eyes. Jay could always throw a solid punch.”

“You didn’t dodge,” Dinah said. She kept her voice neutral. “Or block. I know you, Dick. You could have, but you didn’t.” Nightwing stared at her. “Why?”

“…I don’t know.”

Dinah gave him her _we both know that’s bullshit and you better answer me honestly_ look. Nightwing had seen it in therapy sessions before, as had many of his fellow team members. “Try again,” she said dryly.

Nightwing started, stopped. Stared down at his clasped hands, like confessing to them was easier than looking Dinah in the eye. “I just…didn’t,” Nightwing said, low and pained. “He was so angry and scared and I just – didn’t.”

So that was it.

Dinah had figured it might be.

“Jason’s death wasn’t your fault,” Dinah said. She’d been repeating herself to Nightwing and Batman for years now, trying to help them. Nightwing had accepted her attempts with relative grace, unlike Batman, but in the end Nightwing was very similar to his father. He, too, refused to believe her.

“I was team leader for that mission,” Nightwing said. “He was – he _is_ my little brother. I was supposed to _protect him_.”

“It _was not your fault_ ,” Dinah emphasized. “The Joker is a monster. We all know that and try to take every precaution, but sometimes it’s not enough. Sometimes all the precautions in the world are never enough for the types of villains that we go up against.”

Nightwing looked aside. Dinah’s argument stalled out in the face of the same guilt that had been following the Bats for years now. She hadn’t thought either of them would ever really believe her; she had kept trying anyway.

And now…

“He needs your help,” Dinah said. She wouldn’t breathe a _word_ of the idea that it might not really be Jason in there, even if Bart seemed convinced it was. Nightwing would never accept it. His little brother was miraculously back from the dead and he would overlook anything because of that.

If Jason’s return was some sinister plan, some kind of a trap like Red Arrow had been, it was one of the smartest and cruelest plans someone could have set in motion. It was a surefire way to get past the defenses of Nightwing and Batman. When Jason died, they _broke_.

Dinah had no doubt that even Batman would drop his guard if he saw his son.

“He needs you focused on the here and now,” Dinah continued. “Regardless of anything else, that boy in there has been held captive by the Reach, likely for weeks at the _least_. We don’t know how that happened and we don’t know what happened to him while he was there, because he won’t tell us.” She let that sink in for a moment. “Do you have any ideas?”

“Batgirl has already zeta’d back to Gotham,” Nightwing said. “She’s coordinating with Agent A and doing some preliminary digging. I’m going to send Robin—” His voice caught. “I’m going to send Robin over tomorrow.”

“You’re staying here,” Dinah said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes,” Nightwing said.

There were so many things that Dinah could say, arguments to try to get him to leave, but he would never listen to her. He was too resolved. She didn’t want to use any of them, anyway. She just didn’t want him to get hurt by this.

She wasn’t sure if it would hurt him more or less if the Jason in their custody wasn’t the same Jason he and Batman had lost.

“Try to get some rest at some point,” she finally said.

She didn’t doubt he was going to ignore that advice, too.

* * *

Jason lay there for a long time, right on the edge of exhaustion, but he couldn’t fall asleep. Too many thoughts were whirling around in his head, too much frustrated energy, and he simply – couldn’t.

Finally, he was too cold and uncomfortable to keep lying there. He rolled off the bed, keeping his face determinedly turned away from the camera, and stalked into the little bathroom connected to the room. He took too much pleasure in slamming the door behind him. And locking it.

He had peeked into it earlier, trying to find any kind of escape, or failing that, a weapon. The bathroom didn’t have anything useful in either of those senses, but there was a tiny shower crammed in there with the toilet and sink.

Jason hadn’t showered in literal weeks. He _wanted_ it.

They’d left him some clothes when they’d placed him in this room. They were sitting on top of the closed toilet lid. He supposed they must have guessed his size; he hoped no one was going off memories from when he was Robin, because he had grown since then.

Jason turned the water as hot as it could go. He was freezing cold suddenly, teeth nearly chattering, and he tossed his disgusting clothes into a pile before jumping in. Generic shampoo and a little bar of soap had been left, too. Jason was pissed as all hell at everyone and everything, but he couldn’t help being really fucking thankful for that.

The shaking slowly wore down. Jason relaxed under the steady stream and the heat of it. Then he made the mistake of closing his eyes, basking in it, and his elbow caught the shower wall, confining and far too close.

(Pounding at the lid of his coffin, screaming even through a punctured lung. Electricity arcing through him, burning chemicals crawling in his bloodstream, as a dispassionate alien watched and made notes and he couldn’t escape.)

_Let me out of here!_

He didn’t even shut off the water before he was scrambling out, the shaking back full force. He grabbed a towel, starting to rapidly dry off. The shielding effect of the bathroom had suddenly lost its appeal. It was too _small_.

He grabbed the clothes, plain whites and dark greys, pulling them on with trembling hands, before he finally had to give up and sit on the still closed lid of the toilet, ducking his head to his knees and making himself breathe.

_Fuck_ , he thought. _Fuck, **fuck**! _

The bathroom was small, but not the size of the shower. He could walk a couple paces if he needed. His limbs weren’t bumping against any borders. _He_ had locked the door, and all he had to do was flick the lock the other way. He could do that now, if he didn’t care about anyone watching seeing his breakdown.

He wasn’t trapped in his coffin or a prisoner of the aliens anymore – the Reach, Black Canary had called them.

_But I’m still a prisoner._

A prisoner with the Justice League instead of the Reach. He knew the Justice League. He could escape them. All he needed was the tiniest crack, and they would never hold him the way that the Reach had. They were too _good_ for that, which meant there _would_ be cracks for him to get through.

He just had to wait.

Slowly, Jason sat up. Water still drummed in the shower, steam billowing off into muggy heat. Jason stood, shut off the water, then turned—

Hazy green, nearly shining for how bright it was—

Cracks spread out in a spider web under his fist. His other hand was braced on the sink as he stared into the now distorted mirror, panting for breath. Blue eyes looked back at him as the steamed glass cleared.

_Get ahold of yourself,_ Jason thought.

He drew his fist back, hissing. He’d hit at a bad angle; blood was welling up along his knuckles. Jason turned a handle on the sink and stuck his hand under the faucet, letting cold water wash away any tiny shards of glass he may have ground into his knuckles.

When it was done, he glanced in the mirror again. Blue was still the only thing looking back at him.

Jason grabbed his hoodie off the floor. He might be glad to be in new clothes, but he wasn’t going to give it up. It was warm, it was comfortable, and it had pockets. You never knew when that might come in handy.

Jason grinned as he walked back into the main room. Case in point…

He held the cuffs up smugly at the camera as soon as he finished picking the cuff attached to the bed’s railing – the Reach hadn’t searched him, so he still had his lockpicks, not that they had been useful against a _fucking force field_ – then tucked them away in his hoodie’s pocket. It wasn’t _exactly_ a weapon, but it still might be useful later.

The tray was still sitting on the table next to his bed. Jason pulled the cover off. Soup and crackers – not a great meal, but it made sense; Jason had survived nearly starving as a kid, so he knew that this was likely the only thing he was going to be able to stomach anyway – and a plastic container of Jell-O.

Jason picked it up and hurled it at the door, watching bright green splatter against it as the thin cover of the container broke.

He poured himself a glass of water and ignored the fine tremor running through his hands once more.

* * *

Dick reached up for the third time to rub at his eyes, still only belatedly remembering not to actually touch them. It didn’t matter how tired he was, there was enough pain without brushing against fresh bruises.

He was dividing his attention between the news (still busy recapping the day’s events with the Reach, and it _burned_ that they were getting away with this), the open communication with Babs and Alfred back in Gotham, his own search, and the feed to Jason’s room.

Jason was currently sitting cross legged on the bed, eyes closed. The only reason Dick knew he wasn’t asleep was from the way that his lips moved occasionally, mouthing words. Reciting something? Listing things off? Dick wasn’t sure.

He reached up a fourth time and slammed his hand down, standing. It had been a long night running their mission, and by now the day had passed afternoon and was stretching toward evening. Babs would be going on patrol within an hour or two, leaving Alfred to continue the search alone. Dick didn’t like pushing all that on him – he should have zeta’d home for at least a bit, long enough to tell Alfred the news in person – but he had chosen to stay here and watch over Jason instead.

_Figure it out for yourselves,_ Jason said. Dinah hadn’t let Dick go in. She’d even told him not to watch, not while she was talking to Jason. She’d told him what Jason had said after.

_Figure it out for yourselves._

_We’re trying, Jay._

Barbara had been the one to set his nose on the bio-ship and help him clean himself up some.

She had been standing by the door to the hold when he came in, Tim standing a little behind her. They must have heard the commotion. Her eyes swept over his face, gave a cursory pass to the boy in his arms, and she asked, “You okay?”

“Babs,” Dick said. He was going to start crying. “Babs. It’s Jason.”

“What are you—?” Her gaze dropped down. Dick shifted his arms slightly, carefully tilting Jason’s head toward Barbara. His face was thinner and sharper now, what little baby fat he’d had before death stripped away by at least one extra, inexplicable year of age and however long he’d been held as prisoner on what had to have been short rations – he’d been too light for his height when Dick picked him up. The unruly curls were the same, though, even if there was shocking white streaked through the black.

It was undeniably Jason Todd.

“Oh my god,” Barbara whispered. She reached out one hand, gently resting it on Jason’s cheek. “He’s alive. Oh my god, he’s _alive_.”

Everyone in the cockpit was focused on them. Even M’gann, who had been lost in her trance – _she totally took down Aqualad!_ Beast Boy had crowed, and the only thought that had penetrated was _oh hell_ as Dick spent a moment staring at them praying that Kaldur was okay – was blinking fuzzily at them.

Tim looked nearly as shaken as Dick still felt, peering over Barbara’s shoulder at his predecessor. Despite that, fragile joy was easy to read on his face. Dick knew he had always admired Jason.

Dick carried Jason over to his seat, strapping Jason into place so he’d be safe during the flight. His head lolled to the side, fear and anger melted away in unconsciousness so he just looked like the sweet younger brother Dick had known.

_He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive,_ beat in his chest.

“Hey,” Barbara said, hand resting on his shoulder. He looked up at her. “You need your nose set, Boy Wonder.”

She’d done it quickly and efficiently, the two of them sitting on the floor next to the seat, Tim standing guard at their backs. None of the other members of the team asked questions; Dick was unspeakably grateful for it. He wasn’t sure what he would say if they had asked.

It was enough that his little brother was alive.

_He sounded angry_ , Dinah had said after she talked to Jason. ‘ _Figure it out for yourselves.’_

Now, Dick poured himself a cup of coffee, trying to do what his brother had commanded. He’d stolen the coffeemaker from the kitchen – they were in a STAR Labs facility, so it wasn’t like they didn’t have spares scattered haphazardly through the whole of the building. He’d set himself up in an office down the hallways from Jason’s room, and he’d spent the day there, juggling too many things at once.

Babs was patrolling. Alfred was still reporting a steady _no progress_ every hour, though in an earlier phone call he had, in a subdued tone, told Dick that they were digging up Jason’s grave in the morning.

Dick yawned, glancing over at Jason’s feed. Sometime in the past hour or so he’d finally gone to sleep, leaving the room’s lights blazing overhead. There was a light switch in the room; he just hadn’t bothered turning them off.

Dick was exhausted. He should probably head to sleep soon himself—

Jason started screaming.

Dick was running down the hall before he even thought about it. STAR Labs had thick walls, so it wasn’t until right outside Jason’s door he could actually hear him. He sounded _terrified_ , screaming like—

Like he was being murdered.

He threw open the door.

“Jason,” Dick said from the doorway. Jason had tangled himself up in his blankets with his thrashing. “ _Jason_!”

Even when he was a kid, Jason had never taken well to someone shaking him awake. Likely a product of Gotham streets, Jason always woke up swinging. But Dick didn’t see that he had any other choice – he would have to rely on his reflexes to keep him from further injury.

“Jason,” Dick said, reaching out toward him. “Robin! _Wake up_!”

One bare brush against Jason’s shoulder just as his eyes snapped open and he rolled off the side of the bed opposite Dick, taking the blankets down with him.

Dick edged around the end of the bed.

Jason was half-propped against the nightstand, back to it and side to the bed so there were fewer ways to get at him. He was staring down at his hands, taking huge, heaving gulps of air.

“Jason,” Dick said, crouching by the end of the bed, trying to give Jason space. “Jay. It’s me, Dick. You’re at a STAR Labs facility, okay? You’re not—” In a warehouse in Ethiopia? In a cell at the bottom of the ocean? “—wherever you were dreaming you were. You’re _safe_.”

“Not,” Jason said, barely a whisper.

“What?”

“I’m not,” Jason said, louder. “Safe.”

“You are,” Dick said. “You are, Jay, I promise.”

“If I were safe,” Jason said, meeting his eyes. They seemed greener than Dick remembered, and this time he couldn’t blame it on the lighting of the bio-ship. “Then why the _hell_ is the Joker still alive?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for panic attack(s) and something that could maybe be seen as self-harm (Jason punches a mirror and injures himself in the process). 
> 
> It’s really tough being a therapist for superheroes. And teenagers. Teenage superheroes. I hope she’s getting paid for this. (Bruce probably set up something for her when she became den mother way back in season one.) 
> 
> Sorry not sorry for shoving all my own panic symptoms onto Jason. 
> 
> Quick note about Jason and Dick: I feel like they have to be closer in YJ canon than they were in the comics, for a lot of reasons. For one, in YJ they’re obviously much closer in age than they were in the comics. For another, they worked on the YJ team together. Dick probably gave up Robin earlier – and I do think that he may have _given it up_ , instead of moving on to Nightwing and Bruce giving Robin to Jason without asking Dick. Dick’s really probably only 19, tops, during season two of YJ, and assuming that he started being Robin around nine or ten and waited until – hmm, let’s say he was fifteen when Jason joined the family? Then he might have been ready for a change anyway. Plus he’s handing off Robin to his cute little brother who he gets to fight crime with~
> 
> Until Jason dies. And it wrecks Dick way worse than in comics canon because he was _actually Jason’s brother_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> #yikes, sorry this chapter took a while. School and life were happening way too much. Plus writing the first half of this chapter was like pulling teeth. Next chapter should (hopefully) be out faster.
> 
> Warning for continuation of PTSD/Anxiety Stuff with Jason.

Dick froze.

“What?”

“You heard me,” Jason said. His hands clenched into fists. “Why. Is he. Alive.”

Of everything that Dick had expected Jason to hate him for, this had never even entered his thoughts. He had known – he had _thought_ he’d known – what Jason would blame him for, if he ever got the chance.

It wasn’t this.

“I don’t—” Dick started, dazed.

“The first thing,” Jason said. “The first _fucking_ thing I saw, Dick. ‘Batman Returns Joker to Arkham Asylum.’ How could you – how could _Bruce_ —?”

“We don’t kill people, Jay,” Dick said. It was the only thing he could say. How could he explain the gaping hole that Jason’s death had left in them, the way that Bruce had gone off the rails for months afterward, the way that Dick didn’t even try to stop him because he was falling apart in his own way, making his own terrible decisions?

How could he explain how much they had both _wanted_ to kill the Joker?

Rage flashed across Jason’s face. “Are you kidding me?” he demanded. “You – you –he’s a _monster_! Everyone knows that Arkham never holds him! It never holds _any_ of them, and every time they’re let back out they just kill and maim and hurt more and more people!”

“And we work to keep them from hurting anyone else, as much as we can,” Dick said, on slightly firmer ground.

“It’s never enough,” Jason said through gritted teeth. “It’s never going to be enough. He’s never going to stop, until someone _makes_ him stop. I thought—” His jaw flexed as he cut himself off. He turned his head away from Dick.

“What?” Dick asked.

Jason didn’t continue.

“What did you think?”

Jason laughed. There was no warmth in it. “Stupid,” he said, half to himself. His eyes flicked back to Dick’s. “I thought _I_ would be enough of a reason.”

Dick sucked in a breath.

“He did – _does_ – love you, Jay,” he said softly. “So do I. And we should have protected you. We—”

“Oh, grow up,” Jason spat. “Get over yourself. I don’t _care_ that you didn’t save me, okay? I don’t want your fucking _guilt_. I care about all those people you let die because you and Batman wouldn’t do what needed to be done!”

Dick shook his head. He didn’t have any kind of comeback. He didn’t know what he was supposed to do or say. He didn’t—

He wasn’t sure he knew this kid, Jason shattered and pieced together far differently from the boy that Dick had known. Except even as he thought that, he knew, bone-deep, that this was his brother. The pieces weren’t arranged the same way, but it was still all Jason that shined through.

“How many people died after me?” Jason pressed. “How many lives did he end, how many other brothers and sons did he take away, how many—”

“Enough!” Dick said. He gentled his voice. “Enough, Jason. We don’t kill. How could we justify it? How – how would it make us any better than them?”

Jason’s expression completely closed off.

“Get out,” Jason said.

“Jay—”

“Get _out_!” Jason shouted. “Get out now! _Get the hell away from me, Dick_!”

Dick didn’t try to argue with him. He couldn’t. Jason looked a hair’s breadth away from violence, all the terror of whatever nightmare he’d been having channeled into anger instead, and Dick wouldn’t help either of them by staying.

He left.

Dick took a moment to catch his breath, leaning against the wall outside Jason’s room, before he headed back to the office he had taken over and the couch in it.

_Jason, what happened to you?_

Hours later, woken from uneasy sleep by the chirping of his communicator, he got his answer.

“Nightwing,” Barbara said. “Incoming vid-call on your computer.”

“Got it,” Dick said, staggering over to the desk where he had set up. All the sites from the previous night were still up. Dick pointedly didn’t look at the news feed, let his eyes drift over the note left in front of the main computer – _I’ve gone back to Gotham, I don’t want my father asking too many questions_ in Tim’s untidy scrawl – and pressed _Receive_ to Barbara’s call.

Her hair was pulled up in a tight bun out of her way, dark circles evident under her eyes, her expression grim. There was only so much sleep that any vigilante could ever get, especially when they were trying to balance their day lives with their nighttime activity, and she and Alfred had scheduled the exhumation for early in the morning. Hopefully they could avoid any media attention.

“So?” he asked.

Barbara hesitated, but steeled herself. “His coffin was broken out of,” she said.

“Broken out of,” Dick repeated dully.

Barbara nodded. “There was—” she cleared her throat. “There was blood on the silk inside, so he must have – he must have found something to break through the lid, or he did it with his hands, and then he – dug himself out.”

“Oh, god,” Dick whispered. He buried his head in his hands. “ _Fuck_.”

“We questioned some of the cemetery workers,” Barbara went on, obviously determined to get all of it out into the open immediately. Dick looked back up at her. “They said – they found evidence someone had disturbed his grave almost two years ago. They covered it up.”

Two years.

Two _years_ , and Jason had dug himself out of his grave right around the time that Bruce had taken Tim on as Robin, and _none of them had noticed_.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Dick said faintly.

“Ti – Robin came back late last night. He was with us when – he’s locked himself away in one of the bathrooms now. He’s refusing to come out,” Barbara said. She rubbed at her eyes, brushing away the few tears that fell.

“Do you need me to come back?” Dick asked. He had sent them ahead because he couldn’t bear to leave Jason, but if they needed him, he could figure something out.

“No,” Barbara said, drawing in a deep breath. “No, stay there with him. We’ll figure it out here, take care of Gotham.”

“Okay,” Dick said. “Okay. Take care.”

The call ended, and Dick was left staring at a blank screen.

_It’s him. It’s really Jason._

He would have been a fool not to consider it. When he’d had time to think it over, he knew that Black Canary had purposefully not mentioned the possibility. But while the initial hours after seeing Jason had been an utter shock, Batman had trained him too well. You had to consider all the angles, look at all the possibilities; it was something that had been even further driven into him after taking over as leader for the Team, with Kaldur off undercover.

A clone – would explain things.

But it was far too complicated a plot. Dick wouldn’t discount the possibility of the Light somehow managing to have grown a clone and replaced the body in the coffin – it could have been done with a Boom Tube, magic, some other method Dick couldn’t think of off the top of his head – but what would be the _point_? The Light knew that they could deal with clones, could wipe brainwashing away, and they didn’t often try the same method twice, especially when they knew it could be so easily circumvented.

So, in the absence of enemy action or some other explanation – it was Jason. It was really Jason.

Who had somehow woken up in his grave six months after they’d buried him. Who’d been held captive by the Reach for who knew how long sometime after that. Who wanted Dick and Bruce to kill the Joker.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Dick said again, heartfelt and heartbroken.

* * *

Dinah watched Virgil leave, then carefully picked up the ball of paperclips he had left behind. A sharp prick of static snapped against her hand, but she kept holding the paperclips, turning them gently over. They held together remarkably cohesively.

Impulse poked his head through the doorway, cautious. She had called for him next.

"Come in," Dinah said, setting the paperclip ball to the side. She gestured to the chair that Virgil had just vacated, the same one that Bart had been sitting in yesterday. "Sit."

Bart did, cautious.

Dinah tried for a friendly smile. "I just want the details of what happened on the Reach ship," she said.

Not the future he came from. Not anything to do with Jason. Though any details he happened to let slip – she wasn't above noting those down and thinking about them later.

Bart's eyes flicked to the camera almost to fast to catch before they met hers again and he grinned, covering any nervousness with bravado and swaggering attitude.

 _He let me see him do that,_ Dinah judged. _Probably._

Cute. But Dinah had been dealing with people playing mind games against her for longer than Bart had been alive. No matter who had taught him to lie – and someone had tried, though Bart certainly wasn't very good at it – he wasn't good enough to go up against her.

"Sure," Bart said easily.

"If you could start with what happened in Mount Justice..." said Dinah, folding her hands in front of her and preparing to _listen_.

It never got any easier to hear about children being tortured, much less from their own mouths. Bart had adjusted to the way that the Team ran things, though, and he fell into the easy cadence of giving a report, something already drilled into him in the short time that he had been working with other superheroes. (Something that he had learned from his Jason?)

Dinah didn't need to coax answers from him. He laid it all out for her. It was only when he approached the end of his narrative that he started to hesitate. Dinah let him. What he didn't say might be just as useful as what he did.

And he was very carefully skirting around something.

All she needed were enough negative pieces to put together what, exactly, that something was.

Being freed from their pods, searching for Jaime, getting onto the bio-ship, Jason—

_How did he recognize him?_

Several decades separated the man that Bart had known and the boy that he was now. Dinah couldn't believe she hadn't realized it before. Bart had known him immediately. No hesitation, no time needed to mentally file down the edges age give a person and figure out how they looked as a child.

Either his Jason had shown him a picture of his younger self (possible, if he wanted Bart to be able to completely avoid him), Bart really was that good at identifying people, or—

"How did you recognize him so fast?" Dinah asked.

"He's Jason," Bart said, like it was obvious. "Plus, you know," and he made a sweeping gesture through his bangs, right where white anchored in dark hair on another boy, "that hair's hard to mistake."

Which meant that Jason had had it in Bart's time. Which meant – what?

"Was he a prisoner of the Reach in your time, too?" Dinah asked, keeping it an idle question.

Bart froze, the way he did when he got caught in his lies or things that he didn't want to tell them. Except this time, he answered her.

"...No," he said, looking down and away. Even with his head ducked, Dinah could see the way his face crumpled as he said it, like it was a personal failing.

And maybe it was. What did any of them understand of time travel and the potential ripple effects? In some sense, it might _have_ been Bart's fault.

Other conclusions spun out from that admittance. Jason had the white before being a prisoner of the Reach, so it wasn't connected with them. From what she had gathered so far, the Reach seemed to have collected specific people for specific reasons, reasons she was starting to get a grasp on as she talked with each of these kids.

Dinah frowned.

This was getting complicated.

Bart was fidgeting, fingers nervously wringing together as he looked up at her through his bangs. Dinah quickly smoothed her face. "After you were on the bio-ship..." she prompted, because the arguing yesterday hadn't exactly granted itself to hearing Bart's side of the story.

"When Nightwing and Wonder Girl went to talk to people, I went with them," Bart said. His hands stilled, clasped together so tightly that Dinah didn't doubt she'd be seeing white knuckles if it weren't for his gloves. "When Nightwing started talking to Jason – he panicked. I didn't –" He shook his head. "I didn't want him to hurt Nightwing."

Bart's Jason had told him to run or knock him out at the sight of his past self. _Because he would go through me if he had to_ , Bart had said.

 _Go through him to get to what?_ Dinah thought now. _Or..._ who _?_

Nightwing, maybe. That could be why Bart had jumped in as soon as Jason attacked him. Though if Nightwing was Jason's target, then why would Bart wait until _after_ he had struck at him?

She didn't have enough pieces. She wished she had already talked to Nightwing today.

"Thank you, Impulse," Dinah said. "I think that's all I need."

Bart couldn’t seem to get out of there fast enough. Dinah wasn’t entirely sure she blamed him.

It wasn't more than an hour later that Nightwing stopped by.

"How're things going?" he asked, dropping a tray of food in front of her.

Dinah pulled it closer, wrinkling her nose at the cafeteria food, but she'd eaten worse. She picked up the roll and started tearing it into small portions.

"As well as can be expected," she said. They had waited a day, so that they could give medical checks to everyone who had been kidnapped – except Jason, and that was on the endless list of things she needed to get done – and now today they were working on actually assembling the pieces of what had happened with the Reach – and what, exactly, the aims of the Reach had been. Not that she was going to tell Nightwing all the details she had gathered until she was putting together a briefing for the rest of the Justice League.

She looked at Nightwing.

"You haven't been sleeping."

"That easy to tell, is it?" Nightwing asked, slumping in his seat.

Yes, and it didn’t take a detective to figure it out.

“I talked with Jason last night,” Nightwing said.

Dinah blew out a long breath. “Why?” she asked. She hadn’t specifically forbidden Nightwing to talk with him, only told him to stay out of it when she did the first interview with Jason. She wouldn’t _expect_ him to stay out of it beyond that. No matter that Nightwing had been a vigilante for almost half his life, he was still so terribly _young_ , and this was his brother. It was only a matter of time.

_Except Bart has implied that there is something Jason is aiming for, and Nightwing could have been hurt by going straight in there—_

“He was screaming in his sleep,” Nightwing explained, and a full body shudder wracked him.

 _Damn_ , Dinah thought.

“He wants us to kill the Joker,” Nightwing whispered. “Batgirl had his coffin exhumed; he dug himself out. He was – he wants us to—” He trailed off, unable to say it again.

_Damn. It._

“What are you going to do?”

“…I don’t know,” Nightwing said. There was an awful catch in his voice. “I don’t know what to do.”

Dinah wasn’t feeling particularly hungry anymore. She pushed the tray of food away from herself. “Are you going to inform Batman?”

“And tell him that Jason’s alive, and that there’s nothing he can do about it because he’s still on trial on Rimbor?” Nightwing shot back. He took a shuddering breath. “No. I’m not going to tell him.”

It was Nightwing’s choice, and she even understood it. Still—

Nightwing turned his head away slightly. “Nightwing,” he said, voice smoothing out as he answered his comm. “No. You’re right. I’ll – I’ll figure something out. I’ll contact you in a few hours.” He looked back at Dinah, already standing. “I need to go,” he told her, obviously torn.

“I’ll keep him safe,” Dinah told him.

Nightwing hesitated, but started for the door. Hand on the knob, he paused.

“I never wanted to become Batman,” he admitted, his back to her. Dinah remembered that conversation and confession, back when it had come from Robin rather than Nightwing.

“I know,” Dinah said.

“So then why did I let myself—” Nightwing cut himself off. He shook his head.

“Dick,” Dinah began.

“I should be back sometime later tonight,” Nightwing said tightly. “My comm will be on if anything comes up.”

He left.

* * *

There wasn’t much time before the mission to track down the Reach and their missing members to worry about housing; they all crashed when they needed to and then they were heading out. After, the Team had all managed to find somewhere within STAR Labs to crash for one night, but it was never going to be a permanent solution. Even if STAR Labs had a surprising amount of facilities for its employees and the superheroes potentially stopping by, plus a zeta tube, it could never serve as a real base.

Which meant that those who had been living at Mount Justice were effectively homeless.

Superboy had taken the initiative of calling Nightwing about it. Now, hours later, Nightwing was leading them into a warehouse in Blüdhaven.

Superboy could admit he wasn’t paying much attention to what Nightwing was saying. Their leader was strung out and wrecked. Superboy was concerned. And honestly, he needed to pay more attention to Nightwing than their new digs, because Superboy had put up with worse things in his short life than the hastily assembled base Nightwing had made for them.

Like the death of teammates.

The second Robin had seemed so small the first time any of the Team had met him. Even if he was only a bare couple of years younger than Nightwing, he had seemed unaccountably small at thirteen.

Nightwing – still Robin then – had brought him to Mount Justice as a guest.

“This is my little brother Bluejay,” he had introduced. “Bluejay, the Team.”

Bluejay, still looking a little off-kilter from what must have been his first time through a zeta tube, had been staring avidly around Mount Justice, but at the introduction, he started paying attention to them, too.

“Hey,” he said, trying too hard to cover the way that Superboy could hear his heart pounding nervously.

Wally was suddenly directly in front of Bluejay, holding his hand up for a high five. Bluejay didn’t flinch; on the contrary, he relaxed fractionally.

“Batman and Robin finally let you visit!” Wally said, as Bluejay grinned and slapped his hand.

“Hi, Wally,” Bluejay said.

“Domino mask instead of sunglasses, huh?” Wally asked, looking him over. Despite the civilian clothes, Bluejay was in fact wearing a domino. Robin had always chosen sunglasses instead.

“Didn’t want to look like a dick,” Bluejay explained.

“Bluejay,” Robin said.

“Didn’t want to look like an asshole,” he amended.

“ _Jay_ ,” Robin said, barely covering his amusement with censure.

“A _jerk_ ,” Bluejay said.

“Good enough,” Robin said, ruffling Bluejay’s hair with one hand.

“Oh my god, gross, you’re so embarrassing,” Bluejay complained, shoving Robin’s hand away.

“Older brother’s prerogative,” Robin said smugly. “C’mon, let me introduce you to the rest of the Team. You know Wally already…”

It hadn’t been too long after that that Robin had declared he was giving up his name and role to Bluejay.

Two years after that—

Superboy had recognized the name Nightwing dropped when he walked into the cockpit of the bio-ship. It would have been hard not to.

That day, two years ago, Nightwing had screamed. Superboy remembered that.

Nightwing had split from the Team, working together with his mentor to try to find their missing Robin while the Team kept working from the bio-ship, keeping in contact through the mind link. The Joker wasn’t supposed to have been in Ethiopia. The mission the League and the Team were running together _wasn’t supposed to involve the Joker._

The mind link was still up and running when Batman and Nightwing found Robin.

Ever since the disastrous simulation years ago, when M’gann had pulled them all too deep into the illusion, they had all worked to police the emotion they sent along the link. There was only a mild empathic element to it; the emotions that filtered through were never as strong as the thoughts they sent.

Or at least they usually weren’t.

Nightwing had swamped them all. Terror, denial, overwhelming, crushing grief –

_JASON!_

M’gann collapsed. The link broke without her conscious to hold it, and it was only a blessing. They didn’t need to stay connected to Nightwing. They all knew.

The search was over.

Robin was dead.

And now – he wasn’t.

“Are you okay?” Superboy quietly asked Nightwing, just before he, Mal, and M’gann left for the Hall of Justice.

Nightwing met his eyes. “I’m fine,” he lied.

* * *

Jason really wished he had something to do. He’d love some books, but hell, he’d take a bouncy ball to throw against the walls. Anything other than just sitting here.

He hadn’t bothered relocating after throwing Nightwing out. After the anger had run its course, he was too tired and hurt to move.

 _He wouldn’t even consider it. He hadn’t ever even_ thought _of it before._

He dragged his knees up to his chest, folded his arms on top, and buried his head in them. He wasn’t going to cry, goddammit. Really, he had known – if Batman and Nightwing were going to do it, they would have done it long before.

So why did it _hurt_ so much?

Jason dozed for the next several hours, never quite falling all the way asleep. It at least kept the nightmares at bay, though there were still formless things creeping along the edges of his mind that left him unsettled when he finally roused himself at the sound of a tray of food being slipped into the room.

He uncurled, stiff, and walked over to pick up the tray. He dully ate the food. Then, for lack of anything better to do, he returned to his little quasi-protected corner. The nest of blankets he had pulled off the bed with him at least made the floor a little more comfortable.

There wasn’t anything to do. Nothing other than turn that conversation over in his head again and again. Nothing other than to wonder where Bruce was.

_It’s been a day. If he was going to come, he would be here by now._

Where was he?

 _Dick lied. He said Bruce loved me, but if he did, he would_ be here. _If he did, he would have killed the Joker._

Circling thoughts chasing each other. A weight on his chest as he curled in on himself again. Drowning, unable to breathe—

_Such a fool. He never loved me. He never – he – where the fuck is he – where – why isn’t he –_

“Shut up,” Jason whispered to himself, tugging at his hair. The faint pain drew him back to himself, cut off the worst of the thoughts. He sat up, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling.

It was better than closing his eyes. It was better than the dark. It wouldn’t stop him from getting lost in himself again, but at least he was breathing easier.

However, as the hours passed, boredom crept in. There wasn’t anything to do.

Last night, before he’d fallen asleep, he’d spent time going over what he’d learned from Egon. In the absence of anything else to do, making sure he remembered everything that bastard had taught him was as good a distraction as anything.

He supposed he could do that again.

Jason started counting through poisons, ticking off a mental checklist, letting out a huff of laughter when he reached the one he had poisoned Egon with. Egon, who he had been sent to by Talia.

He wondered again if she cared that he was missing.

“God,” he said in disgust, rubbing a hand over his face. His mental checklist had been interrupted, and it would be easy enough to pick back up, but apparently today was the day for self-pity.

It didn’t matter. It didn’t matter if Talia cared he was missing, it didn’t matter that Bruce hadn’t come to see him, it _didn’t fucking matter._

Yeah, and if he kept telling himself that, maybe at some point some small part of him would start to believe it.

* * *

He avoided looking in the mirror as he washed his hands. He gathered some water, splashed it on his face, and didn’t look in the mirror. He didn’t want to see weird, warped reflections of himself in the cracks.

He didn’t want to take the chance that he would see green instead of blue.

(He didn’t know why he kept thinking they were green instead of blue—)

Looked like he hadn’t done something too stupid when he punched the mirror, though. The scrapes to his hand must have been even shallower than he’d thought, because they were already gone. It probably helped that he’d washed them out immediately.

When he walked back into the room, Black Canary was waiting for him.

Jason stopped. “What do you want?”

“Just to talk,” Canary said.

“So talk.”

“It might be a long one. Do you want to sit?” She gestured to the bed.

“I want to get out of this fucking room,” Jason spat. “You can’t keep me in here forever.” _You can’t keep me here forever. I won’t let you._

_No one’s trapping me ever again._

“All right,” Canary said easily. “There’s an office we can use.” She opened the door.

“Aren’t you going to cuff me or something?”

“Would it do me any good?” Canary asked, glancing back at him.

No. It would just piss him off, and he had already proved that he could slip the cuffs anyway. He stuffed his hands in the front pocket of his sweatshirt and felt the pair of cuffs he had slipped in there the day before.

Canary inclined her head. Jason scowled and shoved past her into the hallway.

He could probably make a run for it right now, though weak as he was and with Canary at his back, he doubted he would make it out. He knew he was in a STAR Labs facility – thanks, Dick – which meant he was in the States, but he didn’t know where in the facility he was. It might take too long to get out of the building.

If there was a zeta tube, and if they hadn’t disabled his access when he died or sometime over the past few days, then that was another possible escape. Problem was he didn’t know where the zeta tube might be, either.

Really his only option was to go along with Canary and make sure he memorized everything he could about the facility.

Canary took the lead. She managed to lead him along a path through the building that didn’t lead them past any windows. He was sure that was intentional. She couldn’t hide the signs giving directions, though.

At least he knew where the cafeteria was now. Great.

Not far past the cafeteria, Canary walked into an office. Jason probably could have guessed it was the one they were going to; it was the only one that had a bunch of chairs set outside it.

Jason followed her in, slumping down in the chair across from the desk she was settling behind. He crossed his arms over his chest and glared.

“Do you mind if I film this?” Canary asked.

Jason didn’t give a damn. “Do whatever you want,” he said bitterly. “I’m already your prisoner.”

“You’re not a prisoner,” Canary said.

“Coulda fooled me.”

Canary held his gaze for a beat too long, then moved past what he’d said. “I’ve been having this same kind of conversation all day. I would like to know how you ended up in the Reach’s hands, and what happened while you were there,” she said.

So it was this shtick again. He should’ve known.

He didn’t say anything.

Canary sighed. “Nightwing and the others are still looking into your situation,” she said. A concession to what Jason had demanded of them. “All he’s told me so far is that they know you—” And Canary hesitated. “—dug yourself out of your grave.”

“So much for the world’s greatest detective,” Jason said.

“Jason, can you at least tell me how long you were held by them?”

Jason considered this. They _had_ done the bare minimum. And besides, he wanted to know, too. “What’s the date?” he asked grudgingly.

“April second,” Canary told him.

Jason couldn’t help laughing. He was rescued on April first, _seriously_? His life was a fucking joke. And – the last he remembered, it had been late February.

“A month,” he said, mirth gone. He’d guessed in the ballpark of several weeks, but a _month._ That was such a long time. A month, and the only rescue had been sheer coincidence.

He would have died down there, and no one would ever have known, the same way they wouldn’t have known for the other kids Jason had seen the aliens take away from the labs. The ones that had never come back.

Jason glanced at Canary.

Her face was far too still.

“Do you mind telling me what happened there?” she asked.

“Yeah, I do,” Jason snapped.

Canary nodded. One finger tapped slowly on the desk. “Have you noticed anything different over the past couple of days? Anything about yourself?”

“Sure, I’m pretty sure it’s called ‘claustrophobia,’” Jason said, and his eyes went wide because he hadn’t meant to say that. He wasn’t _actually_ going to talk about his issues with Black Canary. Goddamn force of habit. “Or maybe ‘cabin fever’?” he suggested hurriedly, trying to cover that misstep. “Since you haven’t let me out of that damn room before this and all.”

Canary hummed. “We can do something about that,” she conceded. “We’re trying to help all those who were affected by the Reach here, not harm you any further.” She grimaced. “Most of those kids were civilians.”

 _I know_ , Jason didn’t say. He knew how many of those civilians had been killed during the experiments. Even some of those that made it out alive might not ever recover. Not in the ways that mattered.

Jason knew what that was like.

“I’m not,” he said out loud. “Let me go.”

“You’re still a minor, Jason,” Canary said. “And there are other extenuating circumstances.”

‘Extenuating circumstances,’ is that what they were calling it now? “Well, I’m old enough to die, so me being a minor doesn’t really matter in the scheme of it all, does it?” Jason leaned forward. “Let. Me. _Go_.”

“So you can kill the Joker?” Canary asked mildly.

Fucking _dammit_ , he never should have had that conversation with Dick. Not here. Not when he was still so off balance and messed up by the Reach.

“What does it matter to you?” he breathed. “Nobody cared when he killed me. Why should you care if I kill him?”

Never mind that he wanted Bruce to do it. At the end of it all, he just wanted the Joker _dead_. He wanted his living nightmare to be over with.

He wanted to be safe.

“Where’s Batman?” Jason asked.

Something flickered in Canary’s eyes. “Nightwing didn’t tell you.”

Jason’s stomach dropped. “Where is he?” he demanded.

_No, no, he can’t be –_

But it would explain why he hadn’t come.

“Several months ago—”

_Please, no, don’t let him be—_

“—the Team and the League discovered what happened during the missing sixteen hours.”

The hours the Light had taken control of the League. The hours the Light had chased down Red Arrow after his use as a mole expired. The hours Jason had only heard about from Batman and Nightwing, and he had a _bad_ feeling about this.

But also…

_Oh, thank fuck._

“They are currently on trial, off planet.”

_He’s not here. He’s not even here._

Jason didn’t know why he suddenly felt so utterly, achingly cold. He pulled at his sleeves so they covered his hands, keeping his arms crossed against his chest like it would hold in the warmth that had already deserted him.

_He’s not here._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No one is handling things well, especially not Dick Grayson.
> 
> It's not even funny how long I spent debating whether to use 'Superboy' or 'Conner' when writing from Superboy's perspective, but ultimately I decided that, depressingly enough, Superboy probably doesn't really think of himself as Conner (because he still doesn't totally feel like a real person/at the very least feels like the 'Conner Kent' alias is as fake as it is and I cry) and I don't know if Superman has given him 'Kon-El' yet, so the poor guy is stuck with Superboy. 
> 
> [I made a timeline](http://redjayson.tumblr.com/post/159999201295/i-need-a-timeline-of-what-happened-during-the-yj) for what happened during the five year time skip, and it's what I'm working from as far as dates and ages and stuff for cscd.


End file.
